


thy white orchids

by GENE5I5



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angst, Fleabag insp, Fluff(?), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Unrequited Love, if you squint and overanalyze
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24366826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GENE5I5/pseuds/GENE5I5
Summary: a love watered and nurtured, over growing from the pot once planted only a mere few months ago, you search for a bigger spot. another cavernous pot? or on the earthy soil? or the third option -- to ignore it and throw it away once it wilts.
Relationships: Simeon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader, Simeon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	thy white orchids

**Author's Note:**

> a mindless self indulgence about Simeon and the reader/MC in a somewhat similar situation as Fleabag and the Hot Priest :-)) **SPOILERS** for Fleabag s2!  
> much longer than i anticipated, but the combo of post-Fleabag depression, Mitski-angst, and my love starvedness in these trying times created this -- so, buck up.

Lingering eyes on the graceful back of the angel formed a silence between you and Asmo. Your utter devotion to his presence distracted you as Asmo studied your shift in attention. Once he disappeared from your sight, you craned your neck to look at the demon with a look of encouragement to continue the conversation before the ethereal angel stole your gaze.

He stares at you staring at him.

He stares back, you stare in anticipation.

You part your lips to end the game of silent tennis, but he beats you to it. Lips curling coyly and a playful tone laced with a hint of curiosity, "Do you like Simeon?" He teases.

A sharp inhale follows and you purse your lips close. _Was it that obvious?_ Word vomit threatens to spill, but a nervous gnawing on your cheek keeps you silent. You adore Simeon; ever since his figure magnetized your gaze, a lovesick spell, more-so blessing, has been cast on you. An angel so tempting, you've wondered if he was simply a cruel, masqueraded demon toying with godhood and your poor heart.

Clearly not, but even if he was, you would still readily drink him in until overdose.

He is a sight to behold; with a conservative neck as a would-be home for your ravenous lips and elegant shoulders that teased for more. Naturally, your eyes would wander down the turtleneck that desperately clung to his torso, finding yourself lingering at his peeking hipbones. Once you stumble out of the carnal stupor, guilty eyes would shoot to his face, hoping he wouldn't crucify you. It was unbecoming of a mortal to have reverence laced with ruttish temptations for divinity, you'd reason. ~~Or so you told yourself so you wouldn't stray further from his light.~~

His sharp features etched a home in your mind -- dreamy smiles that stuttered hearts, mulberry silk locks you wanted to feel fall through your fingers. Gold flecks hidden in aqua eyes that shone as beautifully as... well, nothing could hold a candle to his eyes, not even the Celestial Realm. He's hot -- you didn't feel "hot", nor any word, could exactly encapsulate how breathtaking he is, but in a moment of blind passion, the subconscious decision on "hot" took root -- though, conscious efforts on replacing the ill-fitting word for holiness were made. So achingly ~~hot~~ divine, you wanted to weep at his raw beauty, but it was much more than that.

A figure and face sculpted with pure love by the gods, accompanied with honeyed laughter, had your heart locked on him. Whether it be a courteous chuckle or genuine laugh, a chorus of harps on a warm spring day sang to bystanders. His tender personality you found security in made you more attracted, causing a typhoon of emotions that only formed knots in the pit of your stomach.

You were entranced by his blinding beauty and controlled yet approaching presence; you wanted to know more of him. You find yourself wondering what he thinks about. How he would pepper soft kisses onto your face. What he does on his day off. How he would glow in the midst of the night as his arms are wrapped around you. What his past times are. What his bare hands would feel like as he fondly cups your face. Who he thinks of. You wanted ~~him~~ to learn about him.

"Well," you start, trying to condense the rampant emotions; if you were to sound as lovesick as you really were, it would be the end of you. "Of course I do. He's sweet, gorgeous, gentle. I find comfort in him, even if we don't know each other as much as I would like to." _T_ _hat's enough._

Asmo's surprised eyes renders you regretful. "I thought you were just going to flat out deny it and then be a blushing mess. But that," he giggles. "You're so cute!" A blushing mess indeed, but the frustration of bottling such intense emotions became too much. "You're practically _oozing_ with adoration for him."

He asks a question he already knows the answer to: "Then, do you love him?"

_Undoubtedly, yes._

You fell in love fast. As fast as Mammon jumps at the sight of money, as fast as Beel wolfs down food in, and around, the area. As fast as Lucifer fell from the heavens. And as hard as he hit the ground.

When did you first realize your burning devotion for him? When were you first aware of your stomach stretching with every inhale, and deflating with every exhale? When did you notice the way your top lashes briefly kissed the bottom with every blink? It was almost like it was always there, natural -- in plain view but oblivious to the bearer, until now. A rush of understanding crashed into you one day. Like when sunlight graces petals, when a mother cow licks her calf, when eyes subconsciously worship the sight of his back -- you understood your love. It bewitched your consciousness; overrunning your feelings and sensations. And your new found gospel had leaked into your every act, thought, and emotion.

There was a point in your passion where you wanted to have cherubs with him. Light from the heavens kissing the top of his dark brown hair, illuminating him and your cherub. With halos of love hovering above them both, Simeon emits a look so tender that Andrey Shishkin's work pales in comparison. You blush at the thought, foolish in retrospect, but that didn't prevent a goofy smile from forming.

But melancholy continues to loom above. You knew the outcomes and risks of acting on your feelings -- or if you didn't. It would all lead to the same, heartrending conclusion. So devoted to the heavens and his duty, a vacant spot in his day, in his life, was scarce. You spent hours trying to conjure a future, but to no avail, you knew he would ultimately choose the higher being.

"It doesn't matter," a hesitation in your voice signals otherwise. Looking down at the wooden desk, you circle the engraved textures with an index finger. Swirls that softly glistened, swirls almost unnoticeable to an unfocused eye. "Whether I love him, or not. Whether I show him, or not. I know," an ephemeral temptation to his ethereal being. Lifting your finger from the textures, you glance at the furrow-browed demon.

"I think it does matter. What's the point of developing feelings for someone and being so hung up on it when you won't even tell them?"

"But isn't that the most ultimate act of love? Loving someone despite not expecting anything in return," eyes challenge his gaze.

"Your love has a different definition from mine, baby," his words hang like pollution.

Broken eye contact signals defeat. You clear your throat and rose from the desk, "I think it's time for lunch. We should go before Beel empties the entire cafeteria," you crack a bittersweet smile down his way and offer your hand. He peers up at you, looking through that strained smile before taking his perfectly manicured hand in yours. With arms linked, you both head to the cafeteria as he rambles about the necessity of pursuing love, and lust, and the uselessness in holding back.

He teases that if Simeon failed to reciprocate your feelings, you could give all of your love to him. You feel you eyes burn.

A love watered and nurtured, overgrowing from the pot once planted only a mere few months ago, you search for a bigger spot. Another cavernous pot? Or on the earthy soil? Or the third option -- to abandon it and throw it away once it wilts.

* * *

You decide to text Simeon, not trusting your voice enough to call, to meet you right after classes to confess your feelings. That's what you intended on doing until a timid heart stifled your efforts. It was a couple of minutes before sunset, or moonset, and the Devildom sky bled deep, vibrant blends of indigo and burgundy. Normally, you would take a moment out of your busy schedule to admire the emergence of twilight and its captivating colors, but your nerves have pushed the allure of the otherworldly sight to the back of your mind.

Fidgety thumbs hover over the D.D.D; you're unsure if you should convey an urgent or serious tone, in case it causes a wrinkle on his pretty forehead that you ever so wanted to kiss. After much mulling on the wording, sending a simple, _Could you come meet me? I want to talk to you in person_ , with your location was suffice, and the device clicked off. Holding your D.D.D close to your chest, your mind went over the few words and a panicked realization dawns on you. Quickly opening your device, you sent a quick message, _*one on one,_ and another, _l_ _ol._

_Idiot!_

Waiting on a bench, in the courtyard of the school, your anxiety only grew for his arrival. A buzz from the device halted sputtering thoughts; his message greets you with a _C_ _oming! ପ(๑•̀ᴗ•̀),_ your heart responds with a pang. As an attempt to ease bustling nerves, you scroll through your conversations with him, smiling at the cute emoticons, typos, and many stickers. _God, I love him._

Suppressing desires for consolation from him proved to be difficult, as it was easy to find solace in the beloved angel. His non-judgmental eyes and inviting ears made nerves fall, in exchange for a blooming heart. He was always there; when frustration blossomed from the brothers' constant invasion of privacy and talking over you, when feelings of homesickness were too heavy to bear, when you felt like an intrusive outsider in this realm, and in life in general. He listened, spoke words of wisdom, shared similar experiences, and offered a shoulder to lean on. And that made you only fall harder.

He gives you something to believe in and your eager devotion follows his path. Is this how it feels to be him? To be so ardently devoted to a cause, to a being, that it consumes your very existence?

Doubt begins to fester. Should you have written him a letter instead? The scripture would have stretched beyond all the paper Devildom had to offer and the anxiety of waiting for his response, or it possibly getting in the wrong hands, was too nerve wracking. Simply confessing over text felt too impersonal. What were the perfect words to encapsulate your devout love?

_Every look you send spurs my soul soaring, my body burning for you._

Your leg begins shaking.

_You are the sweet strings of a violin during the interlude of a love song._

The wind whistles in response.

_You make the 3 am Devildom night sky look like 3 pm in the Celestial Realm._

You feel hopeless.

Although you know why you love him, you simultaneously don't understand why it's so intense. He practically knew you from the inside out, but he also kept himself at arms length; Are you in love with the idea of him? With what he represents? With his nature, discovering his true angelic form? Despite not having all the answers, the bulb in your heart continues to blossom for him.

Your relationship would neither falter nor progress; he would continue his kindness and his duties, he would continue acting as if nothing happened. And you... well, what else was there to do but to continue? This served as an incentive for you to confess, to share the love that has been oozing out of your little, human body. That, and the constant bugging and playful threats from Asmo, the lovemonger. Almost everything admonished hope in successfully taking on the feat of loving an angel. Almost everything.

_But what if?_

Immediately, you spot his lithe figure approaching you. Although only a handful of demons were lingering around the courtyard, he's still obvious to recognize from a packed crowd of them. His clothes being the first indicator: from the bright white cape that snugly crowned his broad shoulders to his white pants that... complemented his... figure... nicely. And the second being the brilliant glow that he radiated wherever he went. But the latter may just be from your imagination.

He so fittingly feels like the streaks of early morning focusing on a spot through the crack of the curtains: alluring and comforting. Or like the crepuscular rays of light shining through the dark, cloudy sky after it rains: heavenly and rare. The experience escapes you, but once your eyes catch a glimpse at the lingering beams, you're glad to be alive. A growing sadness may reside, in fear that you may never witness it again, but it always comes back as a surprise and you're filled with a moment of hope. Hope for more.

He greets you with a delicate, gloved touch on your bare arm -- his muscles gently flexing with the movement. You exhale almost instinctively. The limited amount of intimacy between glove and skin still sent bolts of fervor throughout your whole body. A warm smile paints his lips. Your soul has been set ablaze.

"I came as fast as I could. Are you okay, my little lamb?"

Your entire being has fallen victim to his arson.

_M_ y, _my, my,_ it echos through your body.

The day he first slipped in the possessive before his usual term of endearment rushes back to you -- a particularly warm afternoon, a number of minutes before the class you shared with him began. You remember the smell of the classroom's chalkboard lingering in the air, muffled chatter from demons outside the opaque window that gave way to the noon moon, and Simeon radiating his usual florescent aura. Settled in the seat beside his, small banter filled the silence, yet it still greatly contributed to the calamity of your rapid heart. You let a minor inconvenience slip out as you sighed in annoyance, and muttered to yourself on how you could overcome it, but the tinkle of his laugh lulled that annoyance to sleep. He mentioned how you've been seeking him for comfort more and more, a grateful glint in his eyes.

'Your confidante,' he dubbed himself. _Y_ _ours._ The faint taste of whipped cream of Luke's pastries from beforehand lingered on the back of your molar as he continued, claiming you as his little lamb. _H_ _is._

_God, I love him._

He sits down on the bench, keeping a kind distance, and you stifle every urge to scoot closer. His scent is more ambrosial than usual; powdery, floral accords warmly envelops you, short-circuiting your brain. _Are there hints of white flowers? A touch of... rice pudding? Base notes of vanilla? What's that warm and fluffy sensation?_ Your infatuated heart and knotted stomach tighten.

"I don't- I'm- how- uh, sorry," his intoxicating scent impairs your every cell. You clear your throat and grin at him, "I'm doing okay. Sorry for calling you on such short notice," you finally manage to get out.

"I don't mind, I was only decompressing with Luke at Purgatory Hall," he settles back on the bench, cape falling towards you. _His beautiful shoulders._

"Long day?" you gaze at the space between you and him.

"It's always a long day in Devildom," his mouth playfully quirks up, eyes forming crescent moons. Your chest clenches. Shyly looking away, a hum in agreement, and as a failed attempt to calm your heart, escapes you. Silence settles in the space. A throat tight with flowers and a brain heavy with running prayers, you struggle to express the root of your thoughts, even more than before. Despite how welcoming he is, he rarely disclosed his personal life. Your futile attempts could never penetrate his surface without something holding you back or him ultimately reverting the topic back to you.

Seldomly, his demeanor cracks and he reveals personal information, but that only strikes a match for your curiosity.

Everything you thought about prior to Simeon's arrival jumped ship. There's still time to back out, you could talk about something else; ask how his day went, recount the latest shenanigans of Mammon since you last saw him, recall your life in the human world. Could he hear you? Could he hear your inner thoughts, both pure and impure? Could he hear your erratic heart quickening every second he graced your presence and the only medicine was his touch--

"Your text indicated that you wanted to talk about something important?"

You glance up at him as he cocks his head to the side. Your eyes catch the rich nook hidden between his jawline and supple neck. _His beautiful neck._ You stop yourself from burrowing your face into the divine skin.

"Yeah," eyes sweeping up from the tempting spot to his kind eyes. Another pause, another hesitating mouth. "I've been thinking a lot lately, and I tried to come up with ways of telling you, but I don't know how else to say this," stumbling words escaped like water falling against rocks. The silent craving and aching has gone on far too long.

He gives an encouraging smile and sits closer to gently rest his hand on your shoulder. You thought you felt clouds hug your back as the world began to shimmer. _God,_ _I_ _love him._ "Take your time, I'm here for you all night," his cathartic voice only fueled your anxiety. _So much for the medicine._

You nod, "This feeling has only been growing ever since I met you. And I don't know what to do with it, but to just tell you," a flower begins to flourish in your throat. You bite your bottom lip nervously and swallow. "I love you," you shakily exhale.

He fell silent, you fell silent, Devildom fell silent. The courtyard void of bodies, save one anxious human and one musing angel, greets dusk's arrival. The moon kisses the horizons ahead, radiating a warm purple glow that illuminated your environment. Hushed hums of obscure insects and a familiar loud-thumping heart consumes the chilly air. Every sound seems to mimic the three-worded confession. The weight of his hand felt much heavier.

"Maybe it's a human thing, to fall so quickly and recklessly for someone. But it's the only thing I can think about nowadays," your quivering voice rambled. "I can't bear it anymore, it's too much to keep to myself. And I feel dizzy, a good dizzy, every time we talk. Every time you look at me and every time I think of you. And I..." you trailed off, searching for a destination. With eyes reluctant to meet his, you tried to find more words.

It was when you felt an absence on your shoulder, that you immediately glanced at the uninhabited spot, then to his face. And you regretted that.

He was much closer; his features only glow in the night, you learn. You could stare at him just like this for eternity. Delicate, long eyelashes casting shadows on scarlet cheeks while gazing at you. Tempting lips slightly parted from trying to articulate the right response. Your breath hitches, your heart clenches.

Mustering all the confidence and energy you hadn't worried away, you force your eyes to meet his tender pools of aqua swirls that continued to glisten in the night, now mixed with an almost unnoticeable shade of sadness. Your foreheads were close as your love-laced heart rang through hot ears. Without a waver in your voice, you confess again, "I'm in love with you, Simeon."

The knots in your stomach were so tight, something crept up your throat, whether it be from love or nervousness, or maybe both.

He lifts his head away to look up to the heavens.

_Ah. Yeah.  
_

You notice his lips were pursed as he was searching the stars. Your eyes glance to the sky as well; the dark plum canvas freckled with cotton stars almost brought a moment of tranquility to your being. Absentmindedly staring at the gentle twinkles, you were foolish to try to find a beacon of light.

_God,_ your focus transcends the stars. _I_ _love him_.

The night stands still, awaiting for his answer, or lack thereof. So long, you almost forgot you wrung your heart out. He then moves his gloved hand to interlock with yours clenched on your lap -- _cold, soft, smooth, thin._

His shoulder leans on yours as your mind collapses.

_White orchids_ , you manage to identify the allure of his aroma in the midst of a brain running amok. White orchids that flashed behind your lids with every blink, you swore the moon was suddenly replaced with the radiant sun. Had it always been there?

Eyes that stole and reinvented the cosmos. Slow, thumbed strokes on the back of your hand that rendered you paralyzed. Stealing another look at the plump of his lips stirs something in you -- your fondest desire. The soft curve of his mouth arrives before yours. A squeeze on your hands. A clench in your heart.

"It'll pass," a hushed tone, weaved with love and sadness. He's leaned back again.

Sputtering emotions slow to a halt; you're silent, fully knowing the outcome, but still feeling a twinge in your naked heart. You search his eyes, for something -- anything at all, before admiring the hands that envelops yours. Hands intertwined, long fingers overlapping yours. The gloved pads of his fingers mold your barren knuckles; clenching at the touch, the orchids swallow your suffocating lungs. You glance back up at him, giving him an understanding nod.

"Yeah," a smile masks creeping tears.

The concern infused with his gaze only makes it harder. You kick the thought of kissing the sad grimace on the ends of his mouth away.

You break the silent exchange by nodding at your hands again, in full acceptance, or to convince yourself. The corner of your sight catches an approaching face, his hot breath almost tingling your flushed cheeks.

Your eyes dance from his to your grasp. His waltz from your interlaced hands to your eyes.

Lifting your head to face his has him looking away. "We should leave now, it's almost supper time."

The cold air pricks your skin. Blinking no longer rendered the orchids that kept you company. "Right. I should head back to the House before Lucifer blows a gasket," sighing out as a prayer for his everlasting touch.

"I'll walk you back," eyes that set you ablaze meet yours again.

"No, I," you hesitate, not knowing how much of him you could handle right now, but the intensity of lower demons haunts your mind. "Okay, if it's not a hassle for you."

"It never is," a squeeze on your hands, a clench in your heart.

A stem begins to droop. _God, I loved him._

* * *

The walk back is silent with small talk wedged in. Trying not to think of it as an awkward conversation, you instead take a moment to revel in his glory. You appreciated his company, all his efforts, and his ultimate concern for you -- for all of his little lambs.

You slipped your hand in his again, ignoring the disapproving voice that clawed at the back of your head. You wanted to cherish this time, as this could be your last moment of exposed vulnerability and tenderness.

Was it selfish?

He grasped your hand in return and the both of you continued to stroll until the House of Lamentation came into view.

You didn't care.

* * *

Bodies cold, hands warm, and a core burning, you turn to fully face him once at the door steps. Your eyes flits to his rich, scarlet cheeks, but your ground-gripping feet makes you reconsider. Instead, you place a chaste kiss on his knuckles.

"Thank you," smiling softly at him. _Thank you for_ _hearing me, for_ _walking with me, for making me feel safe. Thank you for making me feel like this, thank you for making me move on._

He squeezes back and reaches his free hand to pat your head. "Anytime," a longing stroke. "Take care of yourself, my little lamb."

Lingering hands and agonizing smiles were your good nights.

Once in the House, the heavy front doors shut behind and you lean your back on its cold, hard surface.

A love watered and nurtured, over growing from the pot once planted only a mere few months ago, you search for a bigger spot. Another constrained pot? On the arid soil? Or the third option -- to just ignore it and throw it away once it decays.

Instinctively, aching fingers hover over the shoulder that kissed his. Pulling back in thought, you fixate on your nearly-empty hands, at his touch lingering on your palms. A light left by his sanctity woven through your palm lines faintly glows, leaving a part of him with you. Your orchid-filled lungs burn your eyes.

Or the fourth option, to let it run the course of its natural life, appreciating the vibrant flowers that bloomed. And leaving it to live out its remaining days in a dark, cool place.

Clenching your hands to preserve the phantom of his warmth, an empty ache couldn't help but swallow you whole.

**Author's Note:**

> i've been mulling on this fic for a bit and decided to finally put it out into the world. i've always been fond of Simeon, but when i rewatched Fleabag in April, i became infatuated with the idea of him being somewhat similar to the Hot Priest, and the outcomes of it. though i really only took inspiration from the last few minutes of the series and digressed from the show's ending, but i highly encourage you to experience the entire thing.
> 
> plus, i was on a Mitski rampage again while creating the first draft, so points for you if you saw her influence, we're suffering together.


End file.
